A Friend in Need III: Crash and Burn
By Somogyi
Chapter 8
"Robert, if this is some sort of sick practical joke, I, for one, find it in very poor taste," Ororo told him none-too-gently.
"Do I look like I'm laughing? I'm perfectly serious, 'Roro. I wouldn't joke about something like this. This-" he gestured at the exposed feet of the woman laying in the hospital bed- "is not Jean Summers."
"How do you know that?" Scott asked, taking a hesitant step closer. His gaze fixed on the bandaged face of the woman, lingered there as he watched her chest slowly rise and fall in sync with the hiss of the ventilator. Dr. Philips had painted a pretty bleak picture-and though she tried to remain optimistic, she was obviously preparing him for the worst. Now, though, Bobby was offering him the faintest glimmer of hope. And no matter how much of a stretch it might be, if there was even one iota of a chance that this was not Jean, that his wife was not laying on death's door-
He was finally able to tear his gaze away from the patient and look at Bobby. "Jean was in the car with you when the accident occurred. The paramedics found her body lying next to your unconscious one just beyond the wreckage, after you apparently carried her from the burning car."
"They found this woman's body next to me. With burns over fifty percent of her body-" He saw Scott visibly flinch and he hesitated, but only for a moment before forcing himself to go on, ". . . which included burns on her face, and her hands, thus eliminating her fingerprints. I lost consciousness both before I carried a woman's body out and after we got free of the wreckage. And after the moment of impact, before she was burned, I never got a good look at her face. So it's possible-"
"How on earth is what you're proposing possible?" Dr. Philips interjected. "Are you suggesting that somehow Jean's body was . . . switched?"
"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Bobby replied somberly.
Dr. Philips shook her head in disbelief. "How? Why? And for what purpose? And I still don't understand what evidence you have to support this preposterous notion."
"Heidi, Mrs. Summers was wearing toenail polish this morning," Dr. Foxx explained. "Drake saw it himself-it was a distinctive color. This woman shows no evidence of polish on her toenails."
Dr. Philips regarded her colleague as though she had just stated that the Earth was flat. "That is your evidence!" she asked incredulously. "That's hardly reason enough to claim this isn't her."
"Explain it, then," Dr. Foxx demanded.
"The polish could have melted off in the heat of the fire," Dr. Philips suggested.
"Without damage to the nails or toes? And without any remnants whatsoever? Hardly likely. And don't you dare try to suggest that someone removed it at the hospital. Given the extent of her injuries, no one would have paid her toes any heed." Dr. Foxx walked around the foot of the bed to approach the other physician. "Heidi, I don't pretend to understand how it happened, or why. All I'm saying is that I believe there is enough doubt to warrant further investigation."
"Investigation? Ashley, no crime has been committed here."
"Last I heard, kidnapping was a felony," Bobby interjected.
Dr. Philips raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Is that what you two are suggesting? That Jean Summers was kidnapped, and this woman's body left in her place? But why in heaven's name-?"
"At the very least, to lead us off their track," Bobby replied. "Ideally, to have us believe her severely injured, possibly dead if their plan succeeded, and thus to have us never think to look for her. Knowing that if and when we did figure it out, the trail would be long cold."
"You believe this ridiculous yarn?" Dr. Philips asked her associate.
Slowly, Dr. Foxx nodded.
"Folie a deux," Dr. Philips muttered, glancing from Ashley to Bobby and back again.
Dr. Foxx forced a chuckle. "It makes sense, Heidi. In an Agatha Christie sort of way, anyway. Don't you think?"
Any trace of humor had long since vanished from Dr. Philips' face. Her eyes narrowed and her hands clenched into fists at her side. "Dr. Foxx, may I speak to you outside, please?" she asked, her tone painfully formal.
Dr. Foxx stiffened defensively. "Of course . . . Dr. Philips." She followed the other woman toward the door.
Thankfully, Heidi at least waited until she had pulled the door closed before she began her tirade. "Ashley, I don't know who to call the psych consult for first-that Drake guy, or you. What the hell have you been smoking?"
Scott watched the doctors leave, closing the door behind them. When he was certain they were gone, he turned to face Bobby and finally spoke freely. "Okay, Drake, cut to the chase here-because I'm really not in the mood for games. What's the real reason you don't think this is Jean?"
Bobby looked up at him questioningly. "Real reason?"
"Yes, real reason. I figured you were holding back in front of the doctors because you didn't want to reveal to them that we're mutants."
"Uhm, I wasn't really holding back, Scotty. The reason I gave them is the same one I'm giving to you."
"Robert, you cannot be serious!" Ororo exclaimed. "You are basing your assumption on . . . on. . . ." She gestured helplessly toward the bared feet.
"On toenail polish, or lack thereof," he finished for her. "That's what cinched it for me, yes. But it was more a gut feeling I got when I was sitting here with her. Scott, she's your wife. Do you think this is her?"
"Bobby, how the hell am I supposed to tell when her entire body's covered in bandages?"
"Well, what about. . . ?" He tapped his temple.
Scott shook his head. "When Jean's not conscious, our mindlink is not maintained. So I can't sense whether it's her or not." He walked over to the bed, gently lay a hand on the top of the woman's head, stroking it. "Believe me, Bobby, I wish to God this wasn't Jean. But other than your little half-baked leap of faith, what reason do we have to believe otherwise?"
"Just look at her, Scott. Something's off."
"Robert, the woman in this bed is Jean's height, roughly her weight. She has the same color hair-" Ororo fingered one of the few locks that peaked out from beneath the bandages. "I see no reason to think it is not-"
"Her proportions are off," Bobby insisted. "C'mon, Scotty, I can't be the only one to see that."
Scott regarded the woman silently. Slowly, he let go of her head, and stood up, ramrod straight.
"Scott?" Ororo questioned, approaching him.
"He's right," Scott said softly. "It's subtle, Ororo, but enough to be a noticeable difference."
"I do not understand. Are you two saying that this woman's figure does not match Jean's? What, her hips are too wide, her waist too narrow?"
"It's true, Ororo. In general, this woman is a little thinner than Jean. She doesn't look as toned."
"I do not believe what I am hearing. Robert, Scott, please listen to yourselves. Jean is my best friend; I do not want her to be laying here any more than either of you do." She took a step closer, placed a hand on Scott's arm. "Please, my friend, I know this is difficult. . . . But we must be realistic. We cannot fashion stories of imposters or body doubles just to ease our pain."
"They're not stories, Storm!" Bobby insisted. "And we can prove it."
"And just what would you propose?"
"I was thinking we could have Betsy or Charles scan her mind."
"Unfortunately, Charles is visiting Lilandra in Shi'ar space," Ororo pointed out. "And Betsy is in England."
"Let's ask her to come back to the States then."
"That will take too much time," Scott put in. "If this really isn't Jean, and she's out there somewhere, then the longer we wait, the colder her trail gets."
"There's gotta be a closer telepath," Bobby said.
"There's Nate," Scott suggested. "He's not nearly as powerful as even Betsy, but he should be able to recognize Jean's thought pattern."
"Do you know how to get in touch with him?" Storm asked.
Scott nodded. "It could still take a while, though."
"What if we were to procure a DNA sample?" Ororo suggested. "I am sure that Henry could compare it to her file, and determine if it is a match."
"Now you're talking, 'Ro!" Bobby smiled at her.
"Goddess help me for going along with this," she muttered, shaking her head.
"I'll go try to reach Nate," Scott said. "Ororo, can you call Hank?"
"Of course."
"Bobby, you seem to be on friendly terms with Dr. Foxx-"
"I don't know if I'd call it 'friendly', but-"
"Regardless, you seem to have convinced her to share our doubts as to whether this is Jean. Can you see about having her get us a blood sample?"
"Me?"
"Robert, do you not want to determine if this is truly Jean?" Ororo chimed in.
Slowly, Bobby nodded. "All right. One way or another, I'll get it."
"Thank you," Scott told him. He looked down once more at the woman in the bed. "If this really is you, Jeanie, then at least Nate will allow me to 'speak' to you." He bent down and placed a light kiss on her forehead.
Just then, the door swung open and the trio turned to see a short, stocky figure stomp inside. "Why the fuck didn't anybody call me!" he growled.
"Logan," Ororo soothed.
But he raised a staying hand as he walked past her. "I'm sorry, Slim," he said, approaching the bedside. "Aw, shit, Red. . . !" The anger dissipated as his face softened. He took her bandaged hand in his own, held it, caressing it with his thumb. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.
The stench of charred flesh was nearly overwhelming to his super-heightened senses. Just knowing that it was Jean's body that had been burned-that such horrible odors reeking of pain and mutilation and lingering death were coming from a woman who held such a dear place in his heart-made him want to lash out and maim the nearest person.
His free hand clenching and releasing repeatedly at his side, Logan once again took a long draught of air, trying to calm his nerves, center himself.
He froze suddenly.
His eyes snapped open. He took another breath. And another. It took them a moment to realize that he was sniffing.
"Well, I'll be damned."
"Logan, what is it?" Scott asked expectantly.
Logan shook his head in wonder. "This woman," he said, indicating the hand he still held, "ain't Jeanie. This ain't your wife, Cyke."
"Are you certain?" Ororo asked.
"It's similar, 'Ro-sorta like they could be sisters. But it's definitely not her."
"I told you!" Bobby declared triumphantly.
Logan spun around. "You knew this wasn't her, Icepop?"
"Let us just say that Robert was attempting to convince us of that notion, yes."
"It's a long, sordid tale-involving women's cosmetics-that I'm sure you'd much rather skip," Bobby said.
"What I wanna know is how this happened, so we can figure out where the hell Jeanie is."
Bobby repeated the story of his day with Jean, and what he could remember surrounding the events of the accident.
"But we still don't know where Jean is, who took her, and for what purpose," Scott concluded, running a hand through his hair. "I don't even know where to start."
"I think I got an idea, at least as to the who," Logan told them. "Which'll probably tell us why."
"How on earth do you know who?" Ororo questioned.
"'Cause'a the scent. It was hard to make out at first, because of the stink of burned skin. But the scent ain't Jeanie's, of that I'm certain. But it is familiar."
"You recognize this woman's scent?" Scott asked.
"It ain't a perfect match, but it's damned close."
"Who, Logan? Who is she?"
Logan actually seemed hesitant. He gazed down at the bandage-clad woman and sighed. "Maddie."
"Madelyne Pryor?" Ororo asked incredulously.
All the color drained from Scott's face. "Logan, you can't be serious. Maddie's dead. We all saw her die."
"Cyke, I ain't suggestin' that this is Maddie. I'm just saying it smells an awful lot like her. She always had a certain . . . tang . . . about her. Like Jeanie, only different . . . contaminated. Tainted."
Scott's hands balled into fists at his sides, even as his jaw clenched. "Sinister," he spat.
Slowly, Logan nodded. "That's who I'd put my money on."
"So you think this woman is a clone of Jean? Somehow planted to make us think she was injured in the car accident, while the real Jean was kidnapped?"
"That was our working scenario even before Logan showed up," Bobby pointed out. "Now it makes even more sense, don't you think?"
"We still need to determine if this is, in fact, Jean's clone," Scott said. "No offense, Logan, but if we're going to find Jean, then we have to make sure we're not following a false lead."
"So shall we proceed with the original plan?" Ororo asked. "Have Henry analyze this woman's DNA?"
Scott nodded. "I'm still going to contact Nate. At the very least, he can use his telepathy to help track her down. Bobby, we need you to get that blood sample. Ororo, give Hank a heads-up to the situation, so he can start prepping whatever needs to be done in the lab. Logan, can you check out the crash site? See if you can get any leads as to how Jean was taken?"
"You got it, Cyke."
"All right, people, you each know what you've got to do. Let's get to work."
End Chapter 8